Memorabilia
by Riku's Rose
Summary: After Voldemort's defeat, Harry has recoiled into his mind while Ron's been left to pick up the pieces. A string of memories is all he seems to have left. HPRW slash, angst and slight incest.


_Disclaimer_: I do not own Harry Potter. At all. People might not like my version hah.  
This is Slash, as in two boy's in love. Harry Potter and Ron Weasley with a tiny hint of twins and incest.  
_Summary_: Harry's emotional stability decreases each day and Ron can only sit and watch, with the memories flooding his mind and the faint trace of what used to be and could have been still fresh.  
Okay. . . this will be very, very long. HarryRon is a pairing I love, but haven't considered writing, but now I have the idea. Hopefully, it just won't be one of those cliché plots as is most H/R in this fandom. Well, not _all_.

Memorablilia  
Prologue: Melancholy Smiles and Lost Memories

The ticking of the clock makes Ron wince, when it is so loud that he can hear every little clinking sound, almost feel it move because he's sat here so long. Hospitals were never his favorite place to be, and it only makes him nervous when he has to sit in the Waiting Room with people that are definitely not familiar to him. He's never been compulsively cleanly, but he appreciates a bath every now and then but being here--it made him want to scrub himself dry and shove a bottle of Advil down his throat to stifle the throbbing headache from looking at the white washed walls so hard.

The blaring white reminds him of his older brother's room--Percy-- before he moved out. Everything was completely spotless, so organized and if anything was out of order, Percy would question everyone constantly until he either got a straight answer or a death threat. Ron smiles slightly, heart clenching at the distant memory.

When he's in hospitals, his childhood comes crashing back in a hateful spin of blurs and grins, teases and hugs that makes the present day seem unreal. He remembers Fred and George cutting all his hair off with the exception of a strand that came up in a cow lick. He was so embarrassed, even at the age of four. The twins giggled in a shrill voices, (but really they were one voice) and ran off while he laid there asleep. His thumbs begin wiggling and he finds his lanky spider legs shaking.

He takes a deep breath.

Every time a nurse goes by, he sits up a little in his seat, hoping that maybe someone would explain something, or give him a bit of information about what was going on, but they never did. It always seemed like an eternity until the doctor came, bearing the same depressing news over and over again until Ron felt like he wanted to rip his voice box out and scream for the hell of it.

He intertwines his twitching hands, leaning back in the uncomfortable chair while watching the contraption planted on the wall to increase your boredom, finding the woman being blown by some incredible force as she tries to do her job unbelievably funny. He laughs once, but hospitals aren't made for laughter and people set their beady eyes on him, silently conveying their annoyance while keeping remaining culture intact. Muggles were so fickle. He did not laugh again.

"Mr. Weasley, you may come in now."

Ron's eyes light up, and he feels his palm shake beside his thigh but he doesn't care. This was the prize, he liked to think. After waiting so long, and doing just enough to keep you sane, finally they come out and reveal what happened, or what's supposed to happen, or make you go to _more_ testing or doctor visits. Still, you got to leave shortly.

He follows the hallway, eyes racking over the dingy wall paper and rooms with machines or lap tops or patient's watching TV and eating lunch or nurse's chatting idly instead of doing their job. He frowns and nearly knocks into the doctor when he stops suddenly in front of him.

"We're here. I'll let you speak with him alone, first. I have another patient to attend to for the moment, if you don't mind and I'll be in to explain things shortly."

Ron nods, not really caring what the man was saying, his mind focused entirely on what was behind the shockwhite door. Finally the doctor takes the knob and slowly, the inside his revealed. Ron grins shakily walking in and hearing the faint clink of the door shutting behind him.

"Harry!"

He's immediately shhed by a lingering nurse, before she leaves, giving him a stern look on the way out. He ignores her and rushing to his friend's side and takes his hand.

"Harry," he starts more quietly, bitterly. "Is it feeling better?" He gently touches the arm wrapped in bandages, looking into Harry's bright green eyes as he smiles.

Harry shrugs. "It might, yes, it does. Thank you Ron, for taking me."

Ron can distinctly feel his heart being ripped open and someone taking it out and squeezing it in front of his eyes. Harry's small actions seem to affect him worse than his attitude and he clenches his eyes shut for a moment, stifling a forming sob. He wants to hug the boy, but he knows what would happen and settles for placing a hand on his shoulder, not missing the flinch as his finger's connected with cloth.

"Harry, you don't to thank me! I wouldn't have done it if I. . . if we weren't _friends_."

Friends, _friends_. That was what they were, and still are, right? Ron hopes that Harry will correct him, tell him that they just weren't friends. But he doesn't. He stares at the wall.

He won't cry.

When the door opens, he jumps before scolding himself at his paranoid action and removes his hand, letting it fall by his side again. The doctor does not smile at them, instead sitting in his chair and reading the report in his arms.

"Alright Mr. Potter. Take a few pain killers for that arm when needed." He waits for Harry to nod. "But that's not all you have, correct?"

Ron bites his lower lip, shoving his shaking hands in his pockets. He wonders if Harry will tell him, if he'll really open up like he did with him. Harry doesn't like to talk about it.

"No, I have emotional mood swings."

The doctor's eyes flash to Ron for a brief moment, and Ron is taken off guard completely. He nods, blushing at not really knowing why he nodded. He blames the analyzing eyes still probing him.

"Would you explain what happens, Mr. Weasley? You seem to know Mr. Potter."

Ron leans against the wall, breathing deeply and praying that Harry wouldn't hate him for what he said. "Well, I suppose so. He, er, something happened to him long ago, something I'd rather not explain. Personal, you see. And since then, he's been drinking a lot more and he's been awfully moody since. One of his particularly bad incidents led to his arm."

The doctor's sharp eyes makes him nervous, the way they just fall on him whenever he makes eye contact with Harry or looks to to the floor. It was rather unnerving.

"Hmm, well, right then. I can't be entirely certain, but I have a good idea of what's wrong and I think it might be something related to Bi Polar. I'd like him to see a psychiatrist. His arm was fractured in several places and if he caused it. . . you understand?"

Ron nods carefully, shooting the best apology look at Harry he could. The other man didn't even spare him a proper glance as he kept his eyes locked on the wall.

"Well, take care of him then."

The doctor had left in what seems like a flash, and Ron bites his lip again when Harry finally looks at him and his eyes are jaded and narrowed.

"I'm sorry," he mumbles.

Harry doesn't say anything. He doesn't speak the entire ride home or when Ron cooks dinner. He usually has a kind word to say, but his mouth is firmly closed.

Ron clears the table, and he fights the urge to cry again. Harry sits there, no emotion in his eyes until Ron takes his plate. His uninjured arm goes out, and catches Ron's, pulling their bodies together.

"It's alright," he whispers.

Ron smiles, and adjusts himself on Harry's lap, framing his angular face in his always shaking hands and leans in.

They kiss.

0-0-0

When Ron wakes, his eyes don't open first thing. His long, lanky body curls, and his head falls back against the pillow while his jaw cracks.

And then he opens his eyes.

He sees Harry pressing his wrist into the bed with a scowl, arching his back like a big feline and blinking. Ron wants to reach out but he doesn't, he lays there, turning toward the ceiling.

They share the same bed because they don't have a second bedroom, and Harry refuses to buy one. Ron doesn't have the money too, and they settled on an easy medium.

"Morning," he whispers, careful not to completely shatter the peace surrounding them.

Eyes, beautiful green eyes fall on him at last, drowsy and expressive. Harry gives him a ghost of a smile, pressing his bare chest against him.

"Same to you."

Ron blushes. "How's your arm?"

Harry shrugs, sitting up and wrapping his arm languidly around his bony knees. "S'fine I suppose. How's your throat, I bit it kind of hard last night."

The blush Ron has deepens, and every freckle stands out worse than usual. "S'fine."

Silence.

0-0-0

"What'dyou want for breakfast?"

Ron asks as he takes out assorted pans, smiling slightly at Harry who was currently resting on his palm. When the question finally reaches his brain, a light seems to go off and he opens his mouth.

"Anything is fine, really."

Ron nods, and his red hair drifts into his eyes, obscuring his vision but he doesn't wipe them away. He likes his hair, how long it's become over the last year. He takes eggs and cracks them into a dish, stir once, and then he dumps them in a pan and lights the stove with his wand.

He notices Harry's eyes on him and turns. "What?"

"I don't have Bi Polar Ron. You can't believe doctors. It's a bunch of rubbish. Nor am I seeing a psychiatrist, I hope you know." Harry's inspecting his nails, not meeting his confused eyes.

He sighs, combing through impossibly messy locks of scarlet and taking a deep breath. Harry always brought things up in the morning, and Ron didn't understand why.

"I can't make you do anything unless you want to and no, I don't trust all doctors. But Harry. . . "

"No."

Ron glares half heartedly. "Fine." He goes back to making scrambled eggs only because his stomach would hate him if he didn't feed it.

He suddenly jumps when he feels arms around him, and a body pressing in gently. He closes his eyes, listening to the soft sound of Harry's breathing. "I'm sorry."

"No, no it's fine."

"Everything is always bloody _fine_. I'm sick of that word."

"I know."

The air was lightened, and Ron took it upon himself to laugh. The sound itself was scratchy, and it seemed strange in their little house. Ron turns in Harry's embrace, wrapping his arms around his neck and bring them together. When he looks up, his sees that Harry's green eyes are narrowed, and they're definitely in a happy mood.

He backs away.

"Harry?"

"Oh shut it. Your trap is giving me a major headache."

Ron blinks at the hurtful words and shrugs. He hates when Harry goes from sweet and tender to sarcastic and angry in such a short time frame. It's times like these that Harry yells at him, brings up painful memories just to hurt him.

"How did it feel, then Ron? Having your first time with your own bloody--"

"Harry!"

Ron is against the wall in seconds, Harry's face inches from his own with a malicious smirk on his cherry lips. "Really, you never truly explained to me Ronnie? George must have--"

"_Stop it_!"

"--screamed and writhed and cried, I wonder where Fred was? Oh I bet he was watching, wasn't he while you totally defiled his tw--"

"I said shut it!"

"--who topped, hmm? They were both so loose anyway. George always seemed like a bottom to me!"

Ron slaps him.

And the world shakes.

0-0-0

I hate begging but pleeeeease review! puppy dog eyes

Ah, and this is after Hogwarts. I'll explain a bit of Harry's problem, and what triggered it in later chapters... if people review...

..do it! lol


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